


Beneath the Sky

by MG12CSI16



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of PTSD, Merthur - Freeform, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Modern AU, Nightmares, Slash, Soldier Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:59:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MG12CSI16/pseuds/MG12CSI16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War tears him apart, Merlin slowly but surely pieces him back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> I am stuck in a Merlin rut you guys, send help. But seriously this show has sucked me in and is using my brain to plant all these little plot bunnies which is how this monster of a story came to be. I’m not actually how I feel about this one, so I’m leaving it up to you. I don’t hate it I just feel kind of…unsure about it. It’s also the longest thing I’ve ever written so if you actually get through the whole thing then I applaud you for that alone.

“You are lucky,” they tell him. They sigh, the pity shining in their eyes. Sometimes they thank him for what he’s done, note the haunted look in his eyes and the way he stiffens at the sound of their voice and wish they had said nothing at all.

He never says anything back.

Sometimes there are those few who understand, who can tell with one quick glance what he’s seen and what he’s done and sometimes, he’ll grant them acknowledgement with a simple nod before he turns away.

“You are lucky they say,” admonishing him with a voice that’s soft yet grating. They don’t understand, they never do.

People tell him he's lucky. He is alive and they (his friends, his _brothers)_ are not. But they- (the ones that are truly lucky) - don't hear the screams and smell the burning of gunpowder and flesh in their dreams. They don’t fear sleep or the confines of their own mind. They are free. And so it's with great control that he looks at them and thinks what luck is this?

Morgana is the only one who seems to understand, but their relationship is so frayed from time and friction that sometimes he even begins to doubt her. She takes him in when he comes back from that godforsaken desert and his father promptly slams the door in his face with the hand that isn’t holding a bottle of booze.

He has just enough change to call her from the payphone outside some shady bar and she picks him up in a car that’s much too nice and drives him to a house that’s much too big, and that is the first night he meets the husband he wasn’t even aware his sister had.

The spare room in the back of her house is small, but anything is better than the sandy ground. He surveys it with little interest, throws his duffle bag in the corner and sits down on the edge of the bed. He swallows thickly when eh notes how low the sun has set, scrubs his hands over his face and wishes the day would go on forever.

He fears sleep more than anything now.

The first nightmare isn’t particularly bad. He calls out a few times, thrashes against the sheets that tangle around his body and only jumps when Morgana throws the door open and watches him with wide and terrified eyes. Then he blinks at her and opens his mouth before he closes it again, watches her slowly back out of the room without saying a word and stares at the ceiling until the first signs of morning come streaming through the window.

Leon is nice enough, he decides, offering to drive Arthur through the city a week after he comes home so he can look for work. His car is even nicer than Morgana’s and the suit he dons is designer but he can’t bring himself to care enough to ask him what he does. He’s too numb to care about anything really.

They stay out most of the day, Arthur ducking into shops and restaurants and coming out empty handed every time. No is hiring and he has no real training or skills that don’t involve toting a gun or running head first into disaster. He’s been a soldier since he was eighteen years old; bypassing the option to attend school in favor of serving and while he never regrets the decision for a moment he finds himself growing more frustrated with each passing second.

Leon tells him not to worry, he’ll find something soon enough and if not he can always come and work in Leon’s office, bottom level of course (tea boy, is what he means but doesn’t say). Arthur holds back a snort at that, turns his head to look out the window and pretends the idea isn’t the biggest turn off he’s heard in a while.

He sits with Morgana and Leon at dinner that night, stomach churning as he pushes chicken around on his plate and sips his water without looking up. Morgana hasn’t said much to him since she picked him up that night but Arthur knows it’s not entirely personal. Their father is to blame for most of her damage, the grief of losing his wife during Arthur’s birth damning him to a lifetime of booze and a temper so short it might as well be nonexistent.

She had witnessed Uther’s self-destruction with a heavy heart, watching the father who had once been so kind and loving morph into someone she would never again recognize. For Arthur it was all he’d ever known, but it was the guilt that really caused him to defend his father against anyone (including Morgana) who thought him a heartless bastard. Knowing his birth was the ultimate cause of his mother’s demise had haunted him as a child and when Morgana had told him one night within the safety of the pillow fort they had built that their father had not always been like he was now, Arthur had felt an underlying duty to protect his father from everything else in the world. Even Morgana.

It’s only now that he realizes how wrong he was in doing so.

He brought up the idea of the army six months after his seventeenth birthday, at the dinner table with Uther as he downed another glass of whiskey and barely touched the food on his plate. Arthur stammered and stumbled over his words, pulling out the handout he’d gotten the day before and sliding it across the table towards his father.

The reaction had been poor, Uther laughing in his face and drunkenly going on and on about how Arthur would never last. He was a scared boy and he knew nothing about suffering. Then he balled the paper up and tossed it away, leaving Arthur staring at his plate as he disappeared with the whiskey bottle.

He’d enlisted just after his eighteenth birthday, when Uther had no say over his decisions and Morgana was too busy at college for it to even matter. He sends her a letter a few weeks after he leaves and isn’t really surprised when he never gets one back. She hadn’t properly spoken to him in two years anyway.

Sometimes a part of him thinks she’ll never forgive him but then he sees the way she watches him out of the corner of her eye, as if she’s afraid he’ll slip away again.

He never tells her otherwise.

It’s roughly two months after he comes home that his nightmares take a turn for the worse, his own screams haunting him as they rip from his throat and ring through the house. He’s just grateful Morgana and Leon have gone away for the weekend.

He’s able to calm himself after a few agonizingly slow moments, drawing in oxygen as if he’s been deprived for a lifetime. His shirt is soaked through with sweat and his hair is plastered to his forehead, the roar of blood echoing through his ears. He throws the covers aside, as if they’re suffocating him, squeezes his eyes shut and wills his mind to quit spinning in circles.

Arthur moves without thinking, his eyes snapping open as he throws his legs over the side of the bed and shoving his feet into his tennis shoes. He can’t find his jacket but it doesn’t stop him from grabbing the key Morgana had given him a few weeks ago and slipping out the front door, the cool breeze a welcome comfort.

Morgana’s house is fairly close to the city, a ten minute walk at the most, but Arthur’s desperate need to be surrounded by sound and light and anything that will distract him gets him there in five. The lower part of the city is relatively quiet, a soft buzz coming from the few crowds who are still congregated outside the pubs.

He bypasses them all, head down as he shoves his hands in the pocket of his sweat pants and ignores the laughter. One place in particular catches his eye, a tiny café next to a lake that shimmered under the moonlight, the letters above the door spelling out ‘Kilgharrah’s. It was empty, but the neon sign flashes _open_ and he pretends he doesn’t jump when the bell on the door tinkles shrilly.

There’s a young girl behind the counter with brown hair who smiles at Arthur as he passes, making his way to a table in front of the window where he can see the lake. He settles into the uncomfortable wooden chair the best he can, tents his hands beneath his chin and stares out the window as he watches the light dance across the water.

Arthur loses track of how long he stays there, the girl from behind the counter (her nametag says Freya) eventually coming over with a cup of steaming coffee and setting it down in front of him. When he tells her he doesn’t have any money on him she simply smiles and says “don’t worry about it.”

He sips it slowly, ignores the way it burns his tongue. It needs sugar but he doesn’t feel like walking back to the counter so he drinks it anyways, nearly dropping the cup when the bell sounds again but he can’t bring himself to look at whoever’s just come in.

Then there’s another voice that joins Freya’s, smooth and bright as it washes over Arthur and he’s nearly tempted to turn and look.

He doesn’t.

Arthur sits a few more moments, his cup empty and his mind buzzing thanks to the caffeine, when he hears someone clear their throat and he looks up and catches sight of a young man with dark hair and abnormally large ears staring at him. There’s a stack of books in his arms, his head cocked to the side as he surveys Arthur with a look of interest before he nods to the seat he’s currently occupying.

“Looks like you’re in my seat mate,” his voice is a bit deeper than Arthur initially thought, one corner of his mouth tipping up as he watches Arthur comprehend the words with an air of disbelief.

He glances around the place, notes every empty seat surrounding them and wonders if this bloke was out of his mind. Then he looks back up at his impossibly blue eyes and sees that he’s completely serious and, not wanting to start an argument with a stranger, begins to get to his feet. It must be something in his eyes, he decides, because the man suddenly tears his gaze away from Arthur and quietly sets his books down on the other side of the table and lowers his voice as he says,

“You can stay if you’d like. I don’t mind the company.”

And Arthur must be crazy (he’s almost positive he actually is) because he looks at the kid for a second before shrugging and sinking back down in his seat. He doesn’t look back up until there’s suddenly a hand in front of him and he flicks his eyes upwards, sees an impossibly bright smile being flashed his way.

“I’m Merlin,” the man introduces, eyes so kind it nearly pains Arthur to keep staring into them.

He stares for only a moment longer before taking the outstretched hand in his, nearly jumping at the ripple of electricity that runs through him at the contact.

“Arthur.”

Merlin smiles at that, settling back in his seat and opening one of his books.

“Nice to meet you Arthur.”                                                                                          

And that’s how it all begins.

* * *

“Is this really your seat?” Arthur asks, nearly twenty minutes after Merlin sits down and begins scribbling down notes from one of his many textbooks.

He looks up at the sound of Arthur’s voice; setting his pen down on the table and smiling in a way that makes Arthur feel both nervous and ridiculous.

“It doesn’t have my name on it or anything but I sit there every time I come in. Which is almost every night, granted the place is almost always empty.” He grins and Arthur feels a blush creep up the back of his neck, although he has no clue why.

Quickly he glances back out the window and towards the shimmering lake. Hears the shuffle of Merlin’s papers and forces himself to keep his gaze forward. Then Merlin’s velvety voice wraps around him and he bites his lip so hard he tastes blood.

“Did you pick it for the view?” he hears him ask, “That’s why I did. It’s beautiful at night, even better than it is during the day.”

Arthur can’t bring himself to answer, hears Merlin go on anyways.

“I only come here to give my mum a bit of space. She says I don’t bother her but I can tell she likes having a bit of time to herself.”

Arthur finally turns away from the window and furrows his brow.

“It’s after midnight.”

Merlin chuckles, resting his chin on his hands, “Yeah, she’s a bit of a night owl and I like studying anywhere besides my bedroom.”

For the first time since he’s sat down he glances down and reads the cover of one of Merlin’s books, looking back up with a raised brow.

“English literature?”

Merlin nods. “Yep, third year. Not sure what I’m actually going to do with an English degree once I’m done but it’s managed to keep my interest for this long so...”

He shrugs and pulls the book back into his lap, looking up every few moments to glance at Arthur before finally he can’t take it any longer and the book once again finds its way onto the table.

“What about you? Do you go to school?”

Arthur shakes his head without bothering to look, threading his fingers together in his lap, a nervous habit he’s had as long as he could remember. Part of him hopes his lack of an actual response will deter Merlin from asking him more question but he’s sadly disappointed when the young man goes on.

“Well then what do you do?”

Arthur hesitates for a moment. Then,

“I’m a soldier. _Was_ a soldier, just got back from Iraq about two months ago.”

He toys with the frayed end of his shirt, pretends he isn’t watching Merlin from the corner of his eye as he nods his head, mulling over the new information Arthur’s just given him. Arthur glances up then; terrified he’ll see the same look in Merlin’s eyes that reflects in everyone else’s. As if they understand.

Merlin surprises him though, when his gaze softens and instead of spouting off the same crap as every other person he meets, he only asks a simple question.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

Trying to keep the shock off his face, Arthur nods. Merlin looks relieved at the answer and follows it with one more question.

“Do you have a job?”

This time when Arthur shakes his head, Merlin smiles warmly and his eyes seem to brighten.

“Would you like one?”

* * *

Merlin has an uncle named Gaius who owns a shop on the corner just two blocks from the café Arthur met Merlin at. It’s one of those odd places that sells herbs and unusual healing concoctions (and candy bars, although Arthur’s not sure why) and even though Merlin tells him they don’t see much business Arthur jumps at the chance to get out of the house and actually make a little money of his own.

Apparently Gaius has been looking for someone to work afternoons and with Merlin in school and no one else too keen on standing around an empty shop all day, the position goes to Arthur without a second thought.

He starts on a Tuesday, walking to the shop while following the directions Merlin had given him the day before when he had walked back to the café after another restless night. Merlin got little to no studying done that night, Arthur actually opening up and talking this time. He tells Merlin about Morgana and Leon and how he couldn’t go home to his father and being gone to war for nearly three years was somewhat equivalent to waking up a hundred years into the future.

People and places and things were different. Some nearly unrecognizable and Arthur hated it. Merlin let him rant and rave and paid for Arthur’s coffee when he revealed he couldn’t. It was weird, the way he already trusted Merlin. But he didn’t argue it. He was grateful to have someone to confide in that didn’t pretend to know how hard it was for him to keep his grip on reality.

Before he left Merlin had wished him luck at his new job and Arthur had managed to sleep a few hours without being interrupted by the sound of screaming and gunfire.

Gaius greets him with a smile and warm eyes, something telling Arthur that Merlin must have already told him everything because not a single question was thrown his way. Only a faded blue apron and a mop and bucket that Arthur stares at for a few seconds before shrugging and beginning to mop the old wooden floor.

The day passes by relatively quickly. They get a whopping total of three customers but Gaius tends to them all. For the most part Arthur cleans, stocks a few shelves and has a conversation about flowers and herbs with Gaius over lunch in the back room. He’s busy sweeping behind the back counter when the door creaks open and Arthur is ready to call back to Gaius until he sees a mop of black hair over one of the shelves and he smiles when Merlin’s face appears around the corner.

He notes the time on the clock, ten minutes past the end of his shift and he clocks out and calls out a goodbye to Gaius as Merlin waits for him. He’s dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, hair tousled from the soft wind blowing outside. He waits with his hands shoved into his pockets, leaning against the door frame as Arthur grabs his jacket and moves towards him.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks as they make their way outside. Arthur has to stop and shield his eyes against the sun but instinctually falls into step beside Merlin.

“I figured I’d walk you home after your first day at work,” he grins. “Did it go alright? Sometimes Uncle Gaius talks a lot. If you ever need to just tell him and most of the time he’ll stop. Did you get many customers? I doubt you-“

“Whoa, whoa,” Arthur laughs, clapping a hand over Merlin’s mouth, “first of all, it went great, Gaius is very nice and he really didn’t talk much. You on the other hand…”

He watches Merlin blush and laugh, curses himself when he realizes he’s staring just a bit too hard and immediately pretends to watch the cars passing by on the street beside them.

The closer they get to Morgana’s house the more nervous Arthur gets. It wasn’t unusual for Morgana to be a bit…intimidating to strangers and considering he was a friend of Arthur’s it was anyone’s guess how Morgana would react towards him. He draws in a deep breath as he opens the front door, calling out a greeting as he hangs his jacket up and moves towards the kitchen where he can hear Leon chattering about something work related.

He smiles brightly when Arthur appears, eyes asking all sorts of questions about his day at work, but it falters just a bit when he catches sight of Merlin behind him. Arthur steps aside and let’s Merlin in front of him, making quick introductions as Morgana finally peers up from the magazine sprawled out in front of her.

Much to Arthur’s surprise she offers Merlin a smile before turning back to her reading, humming softly under her breath as Merlin and Leon chatted and Arthur moved towards the fridge in search of food. He’s about to invite Merlin to stay for dinner but before the words can make their way past his lips Merlin announces he’s got to get home and help his mother with something.

Arthur pretends the look on his face is not one of disappointment.

Merlin leaves much too soon after he arrives, leaving Arthur staring after him as Leon smirks behind his newspaper and Morgana’s smile is absolutely evil. Arthur gives her a stern glare as he resumes rummaging through her fridge.

“He’s cute,” she says after a moment, watching Arthur’s shoulders tense as he pulls out a carton of milk and sets it on the counter with a little too much force.

“Don’t even think about it Morgana, he’s a friend.”

He hears the rustle of her magazine as she drops it back on the counter, turns around just in time to see the pout on her face.

“Oh come on Arthur. It’s obvious he fancies you, I think it’d be good for you.”

He grips the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles are aglow, the agitation bubbling up in his stomach as he silently wills Morgana to stop talking. Unfortunately for them both she doesn’t. 

“Enough Morgana. Merlin and I are only friends and even if I wanted to be more than that I think we can both agree that no one wants to deal with someone who jumps at every little noise and wakes up screaming at least once a week.”

No one says a word after that.

* * *

By the time summer melts into late autumn Arthur and Merlin have developed a routine.

Arthur goes to work, Merlin goes to school and by the time Arthur’s shift has come to a close Merlin is there waiting, leaning against the door frame with a goofy grin on his face as he waits for Arthur to clock out so they can walk to Morgana’s house. Merlin never stays long and Arthur’s noticed that since the argument with Morgana she’s been abnormally quiet whenever he comes around.

Nearly every night Merlin still goes to Kilgharrah’s, and when Arthur can’t sleep (or the nightmares are too much to ignore) he finds himself walking there much like the first night they met, throwing himself down in the seat and sitting until Merlin decides he’s done enough studying and they sit hunched over steaming mugs of coffee and talk about anything and everything.

It’s one night in particular that sticks out in Arthur’s mind, when Merlin tires of studying and casts a quick glance outside before his mischievous grin lights up his face.

“You fancy a walk to the lake?” he asks, and Arthur doesn’t even seem to consider the question before he nods and follows Merlin out the door, calling out a goodbye to Freya over his shoulder.

It’s a bit chillier now that the leaves have turned and Arthur finds himself snuggling into his jacket as he walks silently beside Merlin, who’s still chattering away, face illuminated by the moon. They walk for a bit before Merlin decides he’s tired and they sit near the lakes edge, lying on their backs and staring at the stars that freckle the sky.

He finds himself soothed by Merlin’s voice, the lilt of his accent rolling like waves and washing over him again and again. It amazes him, the effect that just a short amount of time Merlin’s presence has had on him. He doesn’t dream much anymore, no longer afraid of closing his eyes at night. He’s happier too, knowing he has someone worth waking up for, someone that looks at him and sees past the haunted look in his eyes. Someone that sees _him._

Arthur doesn’t realize his eyes have drifted shut until the sudden cease of Merlin’s voice, the air around them quiet save for the gentle slosh of the water against the shore. Blinking against the darkness mixed with the silver glow of the moon Arthur turns his head, looks at Merlin and feels his stomach sink when he sees the look in his eyes and hopes, _prays_ this isn’t going where he thinks it’s going.

Then Merlin speaks and Arthur can’t breathe. He hears him say something that sounds like ‘like you’ and he’s close, so close Arthur can feel his warm breath on his cheek and then Merlin’s lips are brushing against his. They’re soft and warm and taste like coffee and _god_ Arthur wants them all to himself. But then his mind is screaming at him and he pulls away faster than he thinks is humanly possible and sits up, fingers traveling to his lips in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I can’t do it, I can’t. I can’t get close to someone and lose them again. I’ve done it before Merlin and it hurts more than anything in this world. Please, please tell me you understand.”

He flicks his eyes towards Merlin as he begs, watching him sit up with a look of utter despair etched onto his face. Arthur can’t think of anything more to say, his throat so dry it nearly aches. Merlin is looking at him, his eyes so wide and hurt that Arthur feels nausea wash over him so suddenly he has to resist the urge to vomit. Then Merlin speaks and his voice cracks and _Christ_ Arthur hates himself (and Merlin) more than anything right now.

“This isn’t war Arthur. This isn’t a battlefield, this is real life and it isn’t going to end that way. Can’t you see that?”

Arthur feels his throat closing, eyes welling and suddenly he can’t see through the salty burn of tears. But he feels himself shake his head, ridding himself of Merlin’s words because what does he know? He hasn’t seen it happen in front of him, he doesn’t dream of blood and sand and screams. He knows nothing.

And Arthur is sure to say that bit out loud.

It comes out as a scream, his voice practically hysteric as the walls of his mind come crumbling down and throws every verbal knife he can think of in Merlin’s direction. He was sheltered and clueless, he’d never know how Arthur feels because all his friends aren’t dead and _god dammit Merlin, don’t you dare tell me I’m lucky because I’m not._

He’s never been lucky.

* * *

He doesn’t remember much after the argument, just that he’s screaming and crying and at one point he must have closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the expression on Merlin’s face because when he opens them Merlin is gone and he’s left sitting at the water’s edge, barely able to breath.

It’s his ultimate downfall.

Arthur calls Gaius the next day, tells him he’s caught some sort of bug and he’ll be out for a day or two. He doesn’t miss the way the old man sighs into the phone, ignores it and gives a hasty goodbye before he hangs up.

He sleeps through most of the first day, barely stirring when either Leon or Morgana knock on the door and try to get him to eat. He simply turns over, his back to the door, and waits for the retreating sound of their footsteps before he lets out the breath he’s holding and drifts off the sleep once more.

On the morning of the first day he finds he can’t sleep anymore, opts instead to stare at the empty wall across the room. It’s just past ten when there’s a soft knock on his door and Morgana’s face appears, soft and concerned and he doesn’t even protest when she comes over to sit on the edge of his bed, running her slender through his hair. In that moment he’s no more than a little boy whose mother is dead, whose father is a drunk and whose sister is much too young to look so exhausted.

They sit in silence for a while, Morgana never one to push him if she knew he wasn’t ready. It was always something he loved his sister for, her patience when it came to him and his emotions. It’s nearly ten minutes after she’s sat down that he finally speaks his voice small and childlike.

“I messed up,” he whispers, voice muffled by his pillow. “Somehow I always knew I would, I just never thought it’d be like this.”

He listens to Morgana sigh, her fingers still moving through his hair is a hypnotizing motion. Her voice comes out soft and sad, tinged with years of knowing exactly how he feels now and he takes comfort in it more than she will ever know.

“You never gave yourself much credit, you know? You’ve always been so pure of heart, always willing to do what’s right. And you know what?”

He looks up at her. “What?”

“I think that’s exactly what you’re going to do this time.”

She doesn’t say anything after that, simply leaning down to kiss the top of his head like she used to when he was little, before standing up and walking towards the door. And Arthur watches her go, waiting for the sound of her car leaving the drive way before he gets up and moves towards the shower.

Arthur goes back to work the next day, quieter than normal, ignoring the way Gaius watches him closer than he normally does. It’s not surprising when Merlin doesn’t show up at the end of his shift but he feels the hole in his chest widen as he walks home alone, soaked by the rain and cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella.

The days slowly turn to weeks. Merlin never shows and Arthur pretends he isn’t hoping and praying to see him leaning against the door every day when he clocks out. There’s one day in particular when he ventures so far as to ask Gaius if he’s heard from Merlin but the old man simply shakes his head and refuses to look at him.

Arthur has half a mind to think he’s lying.

* * *

It’s two months after Merlin walks away that Arthur has a nightmare, so violent and vivid that he can barely breathe. He sees Merlin, lying there on the sand as it grows red around him, the blood bubbling and spilling from his lips. The shots are ringing across the desert and Arthur is crying and begging for Merlin to _wake up_ but all he does is lie there in the puddle of blood and the feral scream that rips itself from Arthur’s throat is so loud it actually wakes him.

He’s practically hyperventilating by the time both Morgana and Leon come charging through the door, Morgana instantly gravitating towards him as he struggles for breath and to see past his tears. He can hear her speaking to him, her voice doing little to sooth him because all he wants, all he needs, is to get out of here.

He calms down just enough to pull himself to his feet and find his shoes, ignoring Leon’s hand on his shoulder as he shrugs it off and moves towards the door. He hears Morgana yelling for him, her voice so full of fear he actually feels guilty for doing this. Then he gets another flash of his dream, of Merlin lying there on the ground bloody and broken and breaks into a dead run all the way into town.

People look at him funny, his torn sweat pants and red puffy eyes standing out as he pushes past throngs of people (he forgot it was Friday night) and finds himself standing in front of Kilgharrah’s, staring through the window and watching Merlin thumb through the pages of his book as if nothing has changed.

But that’s just the thing.

_Everything_ has changed.

Arthur’s not exactly sure when Merlin spotted him standing outside the café with a tear stained face and a look on his face so desperate it hurt, just that when he does he drops the book he’s holding and stands up with eyes so wide and scared Arthur wonders if maybe he’s had the same dream about him.

He watches Merlin move, running from the table by the window all the way to the door until he’s standing in front of Arthur, scared and paler than normal and when he takes Arthur in his arms the blond cries again, and he’s so damn thankful because Merlin isn’t saying _anything_ because he doesn’t need to say _anything_ and sometimes that’s what Arthur thinks he likes best about Merlin.

When he’s finally able to breathe again, his sobs fading to hiccups and sniffles, he hears Merlin’s voice softly telling him he can come home with him and really that’s all Arthur has to hear.

* * *

 

Merlin’s house is tiny and warm. His mother is inside, reading a book when they step through the front door and when she catches sight of Arthur, ragged and broken, she stops. Arthur thinks Merlin must have told her about him because she doesn’t say anything, just as Gaius never did. Instead she moves towards the lined closet in the hallway, muttering something about making up Merlin’s bed and Arthur opens his mouth to thank her. Unsurprisingly no words come out.

While Hunith is busy upstairs Merlin leads him to the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove as he sets Arthur down in a stool next to the counter. He hasn’t said anything since he told Arthur he could come stay with him tonight and part of Arthur wonders if he’s just as terrified as he is right now.

Eventually Merlin places a cup of tea in front of him and he sips it slowly, feeling some of the tension leave his body as the scent of honey and lemon wraps around him like a security blanket. Merlin sips his own tea as he leans against the counter, occasionally looking up to check on Arthur and make sure he hasn’t slipped away again.

It’s not long after that that Hunith comes back down stairs, telling them to take their tea up to bed. As Arthur passes by she smiles at him, her eyes so kind of full of compassion for someone she doesn’t even know and he feels his heart lurch as he gives her a watery smile of his own.

Merlin’s room looks much like the guest room at Morgana’s house, but Arthur doesn’t mind when they have to squeeze into the little bed tucked in the corner because Merlin is here and he’s alive and warm and _dammit_ he’s crying again. Face buried in Merlin’s chest he cries until he has no tears left, listens to the sound of Merlin murmuring in his ear and for a while, everything is alright.

* * *

With Merlin near him Arthur manages to sleep well until late morning, slightly alarmed when he wakes alone in a bed that isn’t his own. Then he remembers, wincing at the memories of last night and he scrubs a hand over his face in an attempt to forget.

Slowly he gets up and moves downstairs, hearing the bustle in the kitchen before he actually sees Hunith, hands busy stirring and pouring and measuring. He stands quietly in the doorway, noticing a distinct lack of Merlin but not actually having any time to contemplate it because Hunith spots him as she turns around, nearly dropping the carton of eggs in her hand.

Another smile settles onto her face and she sets the eggs down, coming over and smoothing Arthur’s hair out of his face as if he were her own son before she ushers him to a stool and slides an already made cup of coffee towards him. He nods at her in thanks and sips it earnestly, thankful for the caffeine. Nearly spits it out when he hears her say,

“Your poor sister was out of her mind last night.”

Damn. He completely forgot about Morgana.

He must looked panicked because Hunith soothes him with a hand over his own, nodding towards the piece of paper stuck to the fridge with his sisters phone number on it.

“Don’t worry love, I phoned her last night after the two of you went to bed. She said she’ll see you when you get home.”

Arthur thanks her quietly, smiling his first genuine smile in a long time, and relaxes back in his seat as he lets the sound of Hunith’s humming float around the house.

Merlin comes back not long after Arthur wakes (Hunith tells Arthur he’s gone to the store after he glances at the front door for the fifth time) carrying grocery bags that he all but drops onto the counter. Arthur is impressed at the speed in which he dodges the towel his mother swats at him, suppresses a giggle as she scolds her son like a petulant child and exiles them from the kitchen so she can make breakfast.

 Hunith is an amazing cook, Arthur learns, shoveling forkfuls of syrup drenched pancakes into his mouth as Merlin sniggers into his glass of milk and Arthur wonders how things can get better so quickly.

In the end he decides he really doesn’t want to know.

When they finish breakfast Arthur insists he and Merlin clean up, ignoring Merlin’s grumbling and basking in the warmth of Hunith’s smile. It’s midafternoon by the time they finish, the sun high in the sky and casting golden rays that peek through the curtains and ignite the tiny kitchen in a warm glow. Arthur’s busy drying the last plate (Merlin loses rock, paper, scissors and ends up washing) when he sees Merlin move to lean against the counter before casually suggests they take a walk.

Arthur only nods.

It’s still chilly out despite the recent transition from winter to early spring and Arthur mentally curses himself for not bringing his jacket (not that he was in a particularly healthy frame of mind). He walks lazily beside Merlin, fingering the hole in the leg of his ratty sweatpants and casting sideways glances at him through blue eyes that are still trying to adjust to the brightness of the sun. It goes on like this for a while, only the sound of their shoes thudding on the sidewalk ringing in their ears, or at least until Merlin slows a bit and turns his body so he’s looking at Arthur with piercing eyes that nearly make him flinch.

“Can I ask you something?” he queries, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders tense.

Arthur feels something akin to panic well in him but then the memories come flooding back to him and he remembers how much he owes this to Merlin.

He owes everything to Merlin.

So slowly he nods, trying to keep his eyes on the concrete below his feet, ultimately failing in the end as he looks back up and locks eyes with Merlin.

“Why are you so afraid?” Merlin must catch the way Arthur’s eyes widen, his lips parting is slight disbelief because before the blond can utter a word (before he can tear Merlin apart again and again) he adds,

“I know you’ve lost people, your friends, people you care about. But Arthur like I said before, this isn’t a battlefield and I _am not_ going to leave you. I would give anything, _anything_ to stay here with you and I swear to you you’re not just going to wake up one day and find me gone. I’m going to be right here, by your side like I have been; because that is the only place I want to be.”

Arthur doesn’t move, or blink or breathe. He can’t bring himself to do anything. At least not until Merlin asks,

“Will you let me stay Arthur?”

Then, the only thing he can do is nod.

* * *

He doesn’t remember when they start running, just that they’re sprinting down the sidewalk and his breath is leaving him in gasps and when he sees Merlin’s house he latches on to the younger man’s hand and runs just a little bit faster.

They bust through the front door, thankful Hunith’s left for work already, and stop just long enough to catch their breath. Then Arthur looks up and over towards Merlin, fire igniting in his belly until he can’t take it anymore and he surges forward and suddenly his lips are on Merlin’s and his fingers are threading through his raven hair and nothing has ever felt so right.

He urges Merlin’s lips apart, tongues snaking past each other and exploring the depths of one another as the moans and whines send ripples of heat through him and he urges Merlin to lead the way to the bedroom. They break apart long enough to make it up the stairs, drawn to each other like magnets the moment Merlin nudges open the bedroom door and suddenly they’re on the bed and Merlin is pulling of Arthur’s clothes and _god everything is moving so fast._

Then they’re naked, exposed and tanned and pale and scarred and flawless and Merlin’s lips are brushing over every scar and line on his body, moving across the dips of his body and Arthur’s hands are looking for anything to hold on to.

Speeding up and slowing down, responding to each other’s needs with idle touches and fevered kisses until Arthur is close and he hears himself begging into the mattress as Merlin stands behind him with fingers sticky with lube and he’s teasing and prodding and _please Merlin just fuck me, god I want you please._

Moving in tandem they become one, hips bucking and fingers fisting around white sheets and blond hair until they reach the peek and with a single breath they fall together, names ripping from their throats and they both are sure to commit the sounds to memory.

And when it’s over (he wishes it was never over) Arthur smiles in the fight to catch his breath.

Together, he could get used to that.


End file.
